


19.5; redo

by ralphstatortots



Series: george and alex [24]
Category: Video Blogging RPF, Youtube RPF
Genre: (:, M/M, Omorashi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-29
Updated: 2019-03-29
Packaged: 2019-12-26 07:03:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,091
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18278219
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ralphstatortots/pseuds/ralphstatortots
Summary: “How’re you feeling?” George isn’t sure what he’s asking that for – out of concern for Alex, or if he’s actually making sure this isn’t too far.“Thirsty,” Alex finally says, briefly glancing at George. “Pretty thirsty. Could you...Could you fill my glass up?”





	19.5; redo

**Author's Note:**

> george memeulous CAN and WILL piss in ur mouth and theres nothing u can do about it. this is written out of pure spite for the wattpad users that made fun of me for pt1

They never talk about the incident – which George has to admit he’s somewhat thankful for. He would probably hide in his room for a week if they were to talk about it. Alex had wordlessly paid for dry cleaning on the chair. The only reason George knew is because he saw the receipt for it on the side the next morning.

George is silently thankful, and he thinks Alex knows it. What Alex _doesn’t_ know, though, is that he can’t actually stop thinking about what happened.

He’s spent enough restless nights afterwards shamefully thinking of it and how unbelievably relieving it was to just _let go_. George is shameful to even fucking think of pissing himself as arousing, but it happens anyway.

Soon though, his thoughts move to Alex. The other man had been so...considerate, non-judging in the situation. While Alex hadn’t exactly _helped_ George by giving him something he could actually fucking piss in, he had helped in another strange way. Thoughts of fingertips pressing into his abdomen, just specific and practiced enough that George thinks Alex has _done that before_ – and wasn’t _that_ a concept that stuck with him.

Something creeps into his head after that, dark and unnerving, yet never leaving. He feels even more disgusted with himself over that than when he felt turned on by pissing himself.

George doesn’t think of it. He _tries_ not to think of it. Yet, as he’s sat next to Alex and absolutely smashing the other man at FIFA, it seems to crop up in his head again.

Alex is drinking an ungodly amount of water, refilling his cup every other break in the game. George can’t help but wonder how much Alex can actually take before it’s too much and he ends up like George had last week. He hates himself for the flush of heat in his chest at that.

“You’re doing so shit,” George coughs out. “I thought you had a bangin’ ultimate team now? Or was that all lies?”

Alex snorts and takes a sip of his water. “Wasn’t a lie, mate.” He leaves it at that, apparently, because they’re back to chasing a digital football around a field again.

George doesn’t know when they both stopped playing and when Alex started playing Will online, but he’s silently thankful for the distraction.

“Don’t bet any money on it this time.” George tells the other boy. “Please don’t. We have rent next week.”

“The only thing I’m betting is that I’m gonna absolutely batter WillNE.” Alex tuts, shaking his head as Will scores another goal.

George snorts and watches as Alex sighs in frustration, bouncing his leg as he concentrates on the game. The glass on the table catches George’s eye and, shamefully, he considers filling it up while Alex is distracted. Just to see what happens.

(George knows what would happen. Alex would simply put down the controller and go to the bathroom, that’s it. His weird, fucked up imagination and fantasies are haunting him a bit too much now, if he really thought for a second Alex would ever wet himself like George had. Alex isn’t that much of a mess to do anything like that.)

He shakes it off and concentrates on his phone and the game, looking up everytime Alex makes a noise of triumph or defeat. More so the latter than anything, but George doesn’t expect the other man to win after how many games Will has won between them.

“Shit,” Alex hisses through his teeth suddenly. “Shit, I need the bathroom. Can you play for me?”

George stops what he’s doing on his phone – not that he was doing much other than staring at Twitter anyway. The words are like an instant distraction, and George’s thoughts go back to the water Alex has been drinking.

“I’m not playing for you. That’d be cheating.” George says, “I’m not gonna help you win against Will just ‘cause you need to piss.”

“George,” Alex whined, drawing out the word slightly. “Please, just this once.”

George hums in a low tone and shakes his head. “Nah, just finish the match, and you can go.” He gets up from the sofa and gestures to Alex’s glass. “You want a refill?” He asks after a moment, just to test the metaphorical waters.

The other man eyes him carefully, eyebrows pinched as he looks up at George. “Okay,” Alex says softly, like he trusts him, even though he doesn’t have a clue on what he’s doing. George doesn’t know whether to feel guilty or dizzy with the notion.

George does refill his glass, higher than Alex had before. It does spark a bit of guilt inside him then, seeing the reluctant look Alex gives the glass of water, but the apparent sadistic side of him can’t stop staring at the way Alex willingly gulps down half the drink in one.

“There’s about ten minutes left,” Alex mumbles a little breathlessly. “Are you sure you can’t take over just for a minute?”

George shakes his head. “Just get it over with, Al. Better than me fucking up whatever score you’ve got.” He says, and Alex lets out a light groan. “Just–keep drinking, yeah?”

Alex lets out a breath and gives him a look out the corner of his eye, swallowing heavily. George thinks he’s starting to catch on, but neither of them say anything. The game of FIFA continues, and Alex takes another sip when one of them scores a goal. It’s kind of difficult to tell who is who anymore when Alex keeps restlessly shuffling in his seat every few minutes and small puffs of air keep leaving him.

A thought enters his mind, disgustingly haunting. George waits for another goal to be scored before he acts on it. “Finish your drink.” He says before he can overthink it.

Alex eyes him, but leans over to pick up the glass anyway. He doesn’t say anything, just watches George over the rim as he does as he’s told. George tries to desperately ignore the heat in his chest, slowly creeping downwards like a flame.

“How’re you feeling?” George isn’t sure what he’s asking that for – out of concern for Alex, or if he’s actually making sure this isn’t too far. Maybe he just wants to hear it from Alex’s mouth instead of his own thoughts.

Alex pauses, seemingly concentrated on the game, even if he’s uselessly following the ball while making no effort to retrieve it. “Thirsty,” Alex finally says, briefly glancing at George. “Pretty thirsty. Could you...Could you fill my glass up?”

George feels like the air has been punched out of him, a winded breath leaving him when Alex asks him. The other man folds into himself a little, hunched over his lap.

“Yeah, ‘course.” He nods, standing to go fill up he glass again. Alex doesn’t say anything if it’s filled up just a bit higher than the last.

“Cheers,” Alex hums, abandoning the controller on the table in favour of taking the glass straight from George’s hands. Seeing Alex gulp down half a glass of water – like he hasn’t drank anything in weeks – shouldn’t make George as hard as it is. Something about Alex taking more than he should and holding it in just because George said so is...It’s maddening the amount of control he has right now. He shuffles in his spot just to distract himself from how he’s hard in his sweatpants.

“How long’s left?” George clears his throat, “Of the game.”

Alex hums, a whine underlining it slightly. “About three minutes.” He doesn’t say anything more, a shaky huff leaving him instead.

George lost count of how many times he gets up to fill up the glass again. It can’t be too many, but watching the other man finish off what could be his fourth or his eighth cup does strange things to him.

Soon, Alex huffs and throws the controller onto the table, just next to the half-full glass he still hasn’t finished. “George, I can’t do this anymore. I really need t’go. I can’t hold it.”

“One more,” George mutters softly, “One more, Al, you can do it. Not even one,” He says in what he hopes is a comforting voice, picking up the glass. “Half of a cup. You can handle that, right?”

“I can’t,” Alex sobs, slouching back against the sofa and fisting his hand into the material of his joggers. The glass of water gets abandoned on the table. “I can’t take anymore, George, I can’t hold it.”

“You gonna let go?” George asks breathlessly. He’s dizzy again, watching Alex’s form tense up and reaches over to cover the white-knuckled hand with his own. “Do you...wanna let go?” George isn’t sure if this is what Alex wants from him, or if he’s even doing this right at all. The answering, drawn-out groan Alex gives is enough.

“For you?” Alex asks, lips parted and letting George drag his hand away from his thigh. “You want me to?”

George nods and watches as Alex bites his lip. The hand George has in his grasp twists until Alex is holding his instead, drawing it closer until it rests on the other man’s t-shirt covered abdomen – similar to where Alex had his own hand on George’s just a few days ago. The hand on his leaves, and George probes around his stomach for the aching spot that he remembers so clearly underneath his own skin.

“No, it was–Let me–” Alex huffs a whine, readjusting George’s hand until it’s settled somewhere to the left. He curves George’s fingers inward, pressing deep into his skin until Alex breaks out into a strained whimper. “Fuck, that’s– _There_ , I can’t hold it.” Alex sobs and scrunches his eyes closed, pressing himself into the sofa cushion as his knees press together restlessly.

One of Alex’s hands finds George’s knee and digs fingertips into the curve of it, which would make George wince if he wasn’t busy watching Alex’s mouth fall open like he’s getting a blowjob, not having his bladder abused until he wets himself.

“George,” Alex whines his name breathlessly. He doesn’t say anything else – just makes a choked off sound and suddenly, George is watching as the light grey of Alex’s joggers turn dark. He almost chokes on his own breath watching it, and George wonders briefly if this is what Alex felt like watching it the other way around.

Alex lets out an airy whine and parts his knees, like all the tension has slipped from his body, his fingers going lax on George’s knee.

“Is that good?” George asks, and he isn’t sure if he’s asking for Alex or himself. The dark patch spreads quickly, Alex’s hand twitches on his knee, a soft sound leaving his lips alongside a nod.

Watching it rather than feeling it is different; George feels like he’s directly responsible for this – which he _is_ – and it’s dizzying his thoughts again. Alex gasps suddenly and clenches his thighs together, muttering something about getting the sofa wet – which is a bit late now, George thinks.

Instead, George just hushes him and pressed into the spot where his bladder is deeper, causing another weak noise to break from Alex and another short wave of wetness to leak off the sofa and onto the floor. George’s cock aches and pulses in his sweatpants when he catches sight of flushed cheeks and watering eyes and the wet sound on the laminate floor.

“You okay? Do you need anything?” George asks when Alex finally slumps down again, trying to ignore how he hard he is right now. 

Alex shakes his head and lets out a shaky breath. “No, just– a shower and for you to explain to Will why I suddenly stopped playing.”

George lets out a laugh which Alex mirrors. They get to the bathroom eventually, and he barely remembers to leave before Alex starts tugging off his shirt. Despite just watching his friend piss himself and getting hard from it, it feels weird to stick around and watch Alex take a shower.

Rather than sort out the mess in the living room like he should, George shuts himself in his room instead. The only reasonable thing to do, in his head, is to sort himself and then call the dry cleaners like Alex had done for him. Firstly, though, George takes himself into his hand and comes quickly into his fist. He’s ashamed to admit that the only thing he thinks of is Alex wetting himself.


End file.
